


Team Sillyvision Excerpts

by Notatree



Series: Team Sillyvision AU [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Memory Loss, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, just a bit for the Prophet's case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-12-31 08:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notatree/pseuds/Notatree
Summary: A collection of scenes written out for Team Sillyvision AU that either won't be part of the main stories or aren't part of them yet.





	1. Musings of a Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that these are written in context of the AU so they might seem confusing, or lacking, and might appear again in other works with more context and possibly new wording. (meaning these are spoilers if you're following my main stories blind/without seeing my AU on tumblr)

He's asleep again.

A gentle rise and fall of his chest, something so simple and strange, somehow eased the Prophet greatly. He never thought he'd feel such panic over another than when his Saviour collapsed beside him. The Demon's chase had taken a toll on both of them but surely something else caused that much exhaustion. Sammy had been able to rouse his new Lord briefly before entering a safe room and finding someplace to let him rest.

The Prophet sat down by his Lord's sleeping form, gaze tracing over the human's features. Soft but worn skin, and short, disheveled locks of grey hair. Even though his clothing consisted of neutral whites and browns, he still seemed more vibrant than anything else in this cursed place. His Lord was so different. Much more different than that Liar.

Sammy ran his arm down the stump on his right side. The damage done by that Demon had been severe. He could still feel both claws and blunt nails tearing at him with a rage he never knew it possessed. What had he done to be left ripped limb from limb? Had he not been a good Prophet? How much had he praised the Demon? Followed its rules? Why could he not appease him?

_ No. _

He shook his head vehemently at the thought. None of that mattered because it was all a lie. The Demon was a Liar. He was never promised anything by it, so of course he got nothing for his efforts. A false God.

A soft groan caught Sammy's attention back to the resting occupant. The human. His Saviour. His new Lord.

Yes. The Prophet closed his one fist in his resolve. This human is the real one. Sammy was living proof of his Saviour's capabilities. If not for him, Sammy would have broken apart, ink returning to the flow of the Machine. He would again struggle to clutch his consciousness close from the Well of Voices that would tear away at him. Yes, he was spared from it all. Most of his form was recreated by _His _ hands. His Lord, his Saviour. Henry will set them free.

Despite the earlier groan, it seemed that his Lord was still not willing to wake. His face, full of lines from age and stress, pinched into a fretful expression before smoothing out again. This process happened a few more times as the Prophet watched what was clearly not a peaceful slumber.

Sammy lifted a tentative hand towards the other. Does he dare touch his Lordship? Would the other be roused and scorn the Prophet for interrupting his rest? Would he lash out against him just like-...

_ No, he wouldn't. _This wasn't the Demon. This was Henry.

_ Henry. _

_ Henry, Henry, Henry. _

The name that his Saviour would constantly remind Sammy of whenever he was addressed otherwise. As if the Prophet would forget the first time he was told. How ridiculous. Of course he could remember a single name. But it made more sense to refer to your Lord as "your Lord". This was obviously a test of his faith, albeit a strange one.

_ I should not question my Lord._

The clock ticked steadily. A faint radio static could be heard down the hall. Sammy's fingers grazed over the human's cheeks. The right side had ink splattered while the left was a little worse off. More ink stains and a bit of dried blood covered over the left side of the forehead, from when Sammy foolishly attacked his Saviour. Henry's glasses were cracked on his fall.

_ Would He hold a grudge? _

_ No, He had still saved me. _

_ Maybe He doesn't remember it? _

_ Of course He remembers it, you fool. _

_ It'd still be one hell of a concussion. _

That last piece of internal dialogue gave the Prophet pause. What a strange choice of words. He didn't know he was capable of being... snarky. For lack of a better word. Best to not let that distract him, lest he have a loose tongue and unintentionally speak ill to his Lord. No, he can't have that.

The Prophet didn't realize he still held a hand to his Lord's face until he felt the slightest pressure.

Then a snore.

The man didn't wake up as the Prophet thought. It seemed he just turned over in his sleep, now facing towards the other.

It wasn't that the Prophet wasn't used to disappointment, but the feeling still hurt when it hit. Altruistically, he was upset that he wouldn't get any answers from his new Lord. He could only sit against the wall in this small cramped room without any orders to fulfill as Prophet.

Selfishly... he was concerned at what was taking the human so long to wake.

The human. His Saviour. His Lord. Henry.

Sammy stilled his hand. He quickly glanced around the closet space that was made into a resting area and peaked into the hall for good measure. No one. Not even that mutt. His Lord was still sound asleep.

Maybe. Just this once.

The Prophet carefully looked over his Lord from his spot on top of the toolbox. He worked his jaw a little before he let out the quietest whisper.

"Henry."

The name felt strange. It wasn't right. It was too casual. Disrespectful. He was his Lord, his Saviour. 

But it also felt... soft. Easy to speak out loud. Familiar.

Another careful once-over. Still asleep.

"Henry... Henry, Henry, Henry."

He singsonged under his breath. Sammy will admit, it's not that bad of a name. It matched the person it belonged to pretty well. He could almost imagine him in his head: someone with less ink stains and neater hair. Still tired but somehow more youthful.

"Henry..."

Working on those drawings for days on end. Running to and fro as one of the few animators in the whole studio.

"Henry... Stein."

It was like a chip on a dam. It didn’t quite break but something… something was there. Sammy looked at the human, Henry, _ Henry Stein. _ His old coworker.

He traced over the man's features once more. Lines crinkled in the corner of his eyes, skin at his cheeks sagging from age. His hair was dulled to a warm grey rather than a deep brown. He was so old, so different from the now resurfacing memory of the last time Sammy saw the animator. Where had the years gone?

Sammy shakily pulled his arm back, almost afraid to touch Henry, to somehow stain him more with the ink Sammy was cursed with. His arm, his body, it was all just cold ink. Nothing was human anymore, not after being thrown through the Wells over and over. He’d been like this for as long as he could remember. But he knew that there was more to it. More to him. How he had yearned for his body to be restored to a form he couldn’t remember. Like how there was more to Henry, a memory of a younger man, ever present to the studio. 

What happened to Sammy? What happened to Henry?

Sammy hesitantly brushed the loose grey hair away from Henry’s face. It fell back in place, making the action futile. Henry stayed asleep, unaware of the other’s inner turmoil.

“Just _ how long _has it been?” Sammy’s voice cracked. 

The clock hung on the left side of the room kept ticking, telling a far-past incorrect time. Ink dripped from a flooded room down the hall in a steady pace. Time never felt like it passed correctly in the Studio. It almost always felt like it passed so quickly, or not at all, when you spend days on end performing tasks without thinking. This time, however, it felt like ages before Henry stirred in his sleep again.

The Prophet shook his head from his thoughts. He couldn’t focus on those now. He had to be ready for his new Lord for when he awakens.


	2. Broken Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry tries to see how much Sammy remembers about what happened before the Studio went under, or anything at all, while he's still lucid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is much longer than the other but it's still mostly draft for a later fic  
So keep in mind this one might feel like it jumps around a lot because of that

“So.. You don't remember?”

“No I… I don’t.”

Henry could feel Sammy’s hand start to quiver in his hold. The man seemed so still and unfazed otherwise. Henry leaned closer and looked up at the other with the best reassuring smile he could manage.

“But you did recognize my face and voice. And then my name. So it’s not _all_ gone, right?”

He got a tentative nod in response. The mask continued facing away, avoiding eye contact he guessed.

“There’s.. impressions,” Sammy eventually whispered back. “Your face, your voice, your name… You were an animator. And you were important to the studio.”

That caught Henry off-guard. He recalled the expanded animation department and how he figured Joey was quick to replace him when he quit. He had never credited enough for anything back then for others to really notice him, let alone find him so important. He wasn't sure Sammy even knew of his status as co-founder.

Joey was angry when he left but did he make his upset that obvious in a professional setting? _Sure, he was petty but..._

Sammy was noticeably silent again so Henry decided to mull over that later.

“Enough about me. What about the others? Our- Your co-workers?” The older man’s face scrunched while trying to remember all the names from the tape recorders. Those seemed like a good start. “What about Jack?”

“He’s downstairs.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Henry almost laughed despite it, disguising it as a short cough. “Do you remember Jack _Fain?_ Your lyricist? You two worked closely I think.”

Sammy shook his head. “I.. I didn’t know that,” he admitted. He looked off in the direction of the stairs down to utility where the former lyricist in question resided. His left hand started to fidget in their hold, the right stump shifting as well on reflex. “I never thought about why I kept on visiting him. Perhaps to preach, perhaps...” He trailed off.

Henry watched the taller man straighten up as he spoke, still holding onto the inky hand. The animator’s own were just as stained black at this point so it didn’t matter. He spared a glance at the stairs as well before his worried eyes looked back at the mask. His smile was dropped.

“Do you ever listen to the recordings?”

Sammy tensed up.

“I know I did. A long time ago.” he began with frustration in his voice. Sammy’s grip started to tighten as he continued. Henry kept his face passive as he listened. “I played each one I could find in this department. Back when I was still so confused and had to know. But my mind… just couldn’t take it in.

I would try to listen. I really did! But every time I try-!” Sammy ripped his hand away before Henry could react and started clawing at the mask. His voice was rising and trembling as he continued, taking on a strange distorted effect, “It just gets! So loud! Those voices! The Machine! And- and then-!”

“Alright, hey!” Henry stood abruptly and didn’t hear the clatter of his fallen seat as he made a grab for the other’s hand. He just barely managed to get a grip and held it close to himself. Sammy continued to struggle against him, almost able to seize his arm back from sheer strength alone but was uncoordinated enough to not succeed.

“Hey, stay with me Sammy! _Sammy!”_ One solid but accidental thrust of his forearm into Henry’s chest forced him into coughing through his words. He still held on. Henry didn’t want to lose him already. This had been the longest Sammy had stayed lucid so far.

As sudden as it came, the panic tapered off and Sammy stilled to a worrying amount. His mask had been pushed up during his fit and revealed the bottom half of his face. Henry allowed himself a moment to study how Sammy had a mouth similar to the Searchers, like a gaping hole in the ink. The musician was unnervingly silent as Henry recovered his breath.

Slowly but firmly, Henry tilted Sammy’s head back to look at him. He kept the inky hand close, hopefully grounding the other.

“There’s no pressure, Sammy.” Even Henry felt impressed how even he could keep his voice. “No deadline, not from me. We’ll figure this out together, alright?”

He received no verbal answer but he could see Sammy’s chest soon relaxing with each breath. With a deep sigh, Sammy finally answered with a firm nod.

“Alright. Review. Jack Fain?”

Henry set down Jack’s tape recorder next to the pile of other ones. They went and gathered the ones they could find around the department, added some Henry carried from other floors, and settled down in the infirmary again. The trek back and forth between the safehouse and the music department had Henry feeling rather unsettled. Like he was supposed to be doing something else. He couldn’t focus on that though. This moment was for helping Sammy.

At some point Jack surfaced and idled in the corner, watching as Sammy paced. The musician had his arm held up and fingers seeming to draw notes in the air. Or Henry assumed so. He could just be fidgeting. Perhaps both.

“He worked with me. He wrote the lyrics to my compositions and... enjoyed the silence as much as I did. Was he… my friend?” Sammy paused to look at the living goopy pile in question. Naturally he only received a tilt of a head in response.

The older man shrugged. “Maybe? You always got bent by others but I think you two got along well enough.” He ignored the questioning mutter about his word choice and grabbed the next tape recorder. The label was just as faded as the others but it was legible enough.

“What about… Wally Franks?”

Sammy’s arm shot down and he stiffened. Henry’s brows raised just a bit in both concern and alarm but then Sammy just shook his head.

“That name. Annoyed me. Somehow.”

“Oh. ” Henry blinked. He relaxed back with a quiet grunt. A sudden thin grin formed on his face. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him before it became full laughter. It wasn’t really loud or boisterous laughter but it felt like it’d been too long since he had a genuine one. Sammy tilted his head in questioning but his posture relaxed. Jack also shifted his attention to Henry.

“That,” Henry started to explain after calming down, “makes sense. He was a custodian and... Do you still like chocolate cake?”.

The question came out of nowhere and Sammy still stood confused.

“What?''

“You know. Do you? Because... ” Henry started trailing off, smile faltering. Where _did_ that question come from? He set the tape down, rubbing his neck in thought. Was he told that before? He tried to recall but it felt like the answers just escaped him. No dice.

Sammy piped up, “I still don’t remember a Wally but I think I do still like chocolate cake.”

“Maybe for the best.” Henry’s smile returned, a little less mirth to it but still a smile. He made a mental note to get cake together if they escape. _When_ they escape, he corrected himself.

The next tape recorder made the animator pause. He read the name over carefully. “Thomas? Thomas Connor?”

“Connor...” The pacing resumed until Sammy gave a despondent shrug. “I don’t remember that one.”

“I don’t either.” Henry rubbed the back of his neck again as he set the recorder down. He clicked play and listened to the gruff voice that started playing. From the sounds of it, the man worked with either plumbing or mechanics. Neither option sounded like it would require frequenting the music department so maybe Sammy really didn’t know him. Supposedly. But it’s understandable.

“Another new hire,” Henry mumbled under his breath.

As the recording kept going, Sammy seemed to perk up.

“Wait, I remember the voice.” He began gesturing his arm vaguely again. “That man… He had installed the ink pipes. He would often grumble in his work but… yes, yes he helped against the flooding, with the pump switch in my office.”

Henry nodded along to Sammy's recollection. He found himself relieved that his old co-worker did remember some things. Or, was starting to remember. Maybe sounds and voices helped him. Sammy was a musical person after all.

Next tape recorder. _Oh,_ Henry thought, _this one should have something._

“Susie Campbell?”

Sammy actually seemed eager to answer this one. “Yes, I remember that one! She was.. A charming lady, yes.” Sammy almost sounded wistful until he continued in a harder tone. “But then... No. No, she’s gone now.”

Henry honestly wasn’t sure what to think about that. If he remembered correctly, Sammy had a bit of a fancy for their resident voice actress. Either Sammy's reaction meant she left the studio before everything went to Hell, or…

Susie Campbell’s cassette tape was added to the pile. There was no need to play that one.

He looked at Jack as the Searcher fidgeted with that film reel in his hands. Henry still wasn’t sure where it came from. If he were honest, Henry wasn't sure about anything ever since agreeing to come back and visit the old studio.

Then a specific name came to mind.

_No,_ Henry immediately argued with himself. If any names were to give a bad reaction, it would be_ his._ But if there was a chance Henry could learn just something about what the hell was going on here, this might be it. Henry needed to know.

“Sammy.” This is a bad idea. “What do you remember about Joey Drew?”

While Sammy had tensed up before, this time he seemed absolutely rigid. The way the other turned towards him was so disconcerting, Henry couldn’t tell if it was Sammy or the Prophet. The room suddenly felt filled with suffocating unease and Henry couldn’t have regretted saying something more.

“He’s somehow behind all this, isn’t he?” By God, why was he still talking? And why wasn’t Sammy answering? No, they both knew the answer. It was so obvious. _Dammit, Henry, this is why you keep your mouth shut_. “Sammy?”

“It’s too loud.” Sammy had begun to visibly shake this time, like he was fighting to still his actions.

“What?” Henry’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are the- the voices, right? Sammy?”

“I can’t-!” Sammy’s voice was so strained, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Do not make me think about him.”

“I’m sorry”. He really was. Henry fumbled through the last few cassettes, two being Sammy’s own and one more. Maybe changing the subject will help? “Here- uhm- Norman Polk? You might know about him. He even talks about you in his tape?”

Sammy shook his head vigorously, not looking at him. “I can’t. I can’t, Henry.”

“We’re not focusing on the old boss, anymore,” Henry tried to reassure. Keep his voice level. “It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not! That one too, that- what was his-?”

“Norman?”

Sammy grabbed at the mask once more and groaned. “It feels like my head’s going to explode…”

“We’re stopping now, then.”

“_No!”_ Sammy barked out. “I need to remember! Just give me more time…!”

Jack, for one reason or another, seemed to make a grab for the cassettes. The clatter of them all hitting the floor echoed through both stairways and spooked Jack away. Back downstairs to the sewers presumably. The interruption was enough to slightly dispel the unease and silence followed. Henry took a deep breath. Sammy had stopped shaking at least.

“Okay, let’s just-” Henry crouched down and begun to stack the cassettes until he was interrupted again.

“My Lord?”

The Prophet.

The conversation was over, wasn’t it? Henry didn’t show the disappointment in his face and slowly placed the tapes back. There's always a next time. Whenever that is.

“Yes?” Henry kept his back turned to the other but his reply calm.

“Here, let me.” So unnervingly eager. So not-Sammy. “You are still recovering.”

The Prophet rounded him and picked up a stack under his good arm. He seemed to pause and look at the remainder he couldn’t grab. Henry picked those up instead, much to the other’s discontent, and started up the stairs. The loyal Prophet followed step.

On their way from the infirmary, Sammy suggested picking up some more food before planning their next move. Henry humored the Prophet in allowing him to go and fetch all the cans he could find. Henry just followed slowly, feeling a little sluggish now that he wasn't focused in conversation. He decided to study his surroundings as they walked.

The sight of everything in a permanent hue of sepia was still strange but Henry found himself getting used to it rather quickly. The idea of having to drink the soup again, not so much. There was unfortunately not much else they could find in this studio. Should they start rationing that stuff? Was there a finite amount of soup?

Henry shook his head. His mind just kept wandering lately. Maybe Henry really was more exhausted than he thought.

It was while the musician was searching a small office room when he became lucid again. Henry was waiting by the door when he could hear the other begin to complain in a very not-Prophet tone.

“It happened again, didn’t it? We could have gotten somewhere if not for those stupid voices distracting me!”

Sammy’s irritation can be heard through the rattling of furniture and rustling papers in the room. Henry leaned against the door frame and shrugged.

“Can I ask what they sound like? If that’s not a stupid question.”

A pause. “You really can’t hear them? The dissonance, the overlapping whispers and distant wails?”

Henry shook his head despite the other not seeing it. “I feel like I would’ve noticed something like that”.

“Must be nice, having some silence.” He heard Sammy sigh.

“Nah, there’s still the ringing,” Henry said matter-of-factly.

Sammy poked his head out from the office. “The what?”

He didn’t jump but Henry did feel some serious deja-vu from seeing a Bendy face pop up from around a corner.

“Y’know.” Henry gestured vaguely towards his ears. “Tinnitus.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“... I don’t know. I don’t remember you having tinnitus.”

The door creaked a little as Henry gave a half shrug. He kept his voice even but had a wry smile. “What you get for dealing with gunfire and explosions for a couple years. If you remember World War II.”

“I… I don’t. Ugh.” Sammy disappeared back into the room. “Of course I don’t remember. I only remember what job I had because it’s written on a sign! I can barely remember my co-workers let alone what their jobs were!”

“Sammy, it’s alright. We can focus on remembering the details later.”

“It’s just that-! I do not know if it’s because of everything that has happened in this cursed studio, or there was just not much I knew about them in the first place. You said it yourself; I didn’t seem close to anyone.” Some metallic clinking can be heard, and some fumbling. Henry remembered that the Prophet took the recorders from him, probably making multitasking difficult.

“Henry?”

“Yes?”

“What was I like? In the past?”

Henry crossed his arms in thought. There was a lot he could say if he were honest. Thirty years or not, it was hard to forget someone like Sammy Lawrence.

A loud clattering of interrupted Henry's thoughts, the echo resounding from the office into the halls. Dull groans and sounds of splatter warned Henry of a now-alerted Searcher. He entered the office and found Sammy surrounded by cans and recorders scattered at his feet. He was staring down at nothing, arm still out, whole body shaking.

“Sammy?!” Henry quickly rushed over. He gave Sammy a quick once over before bending down to clean up the dropped items. Luckily, none of the cans burst on impact. A couple of the recorders had the tapes pop out but mostly undamaged. “We can take a break if you need to.”

“I tried to remember something… And I almost did.” Sammy cut him off. He sounded so haunted. “But now I feel like...I feel like I did something horrible.”

“Sammy…”

A Searcher finally reached the door and made a grab at Henry’s legs before being swiftly kicked by Sammy. It hit against the wall broken with a splat and sank through the floorboards.

“Ah!” The other suddenly snapped up and looked down at Henry. The old man barely got a word out before he was pulled to his feet by one strong arm and had an empty can in his hand snatched away. The Prophet crouched back down and started picking up the rest of the mess by himself, almost tutting.

“Apologies, my Lord. My mind must’ve wandered for a bit. I will clean this up immediately.”

Henry could only sigh, feeling confused and maybe just a bit hurt. There's always a next time, Henry. There's always a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find more content for the AU on my tumblr  
maulan-reverie.tumblr.com  
and/or follow the main storylines in the Team Sillyvision AU series on here


	3. Squash and Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short, deleted scene from "Team Sillyvision" Chapter 4

The pat felt nice and all but Bendy was soon realizing that his new friend might actually just be a really weird and curious fella.

One hand became two, and moved from the top of his horns to the side of his head. And then the Projectionist abruptly squished his cheeks, causing Bendy to let out a squeaky-like noise in startled confusion. Bendy tried to squirm out of the hold but their hands were immovable. He had to resign to it, like if your grandma started to pinch your cheeks, doting about how much you've grown since she last saw you. Not that Bendy even knew if he even had a grandmother. Add that to the list of things he had to figure out about himself.

His new friend kept examining his face, tilting their head here and there. Their flickering light revealed pretty much nothing going on up there. Though, Bendy had to give the guy more credit and believe there must be some gears grinding really hard. This seemed to confirm that he might not be like the other shambling, melting cartoons around here. 

Bendy's face was released for only a second before he felt his cheeks pinched and then stretched like a putty. The Projectionist emitted a clipped tone in surprise at how easily it happened and Bendy snorted in response. The longer his face was held, the more he could hear the sound of straining rubber, like rubbing a balloon. He obviously couldn't see what he must've looked like, but he could feel how stretched his grin became, eyes squinting, and could only imagine how silly it must look. And it hardly hurt either! As an effect of being based on cartoon he figured. The Projectionist just kept looking between him and the looping cartoon on the plastered wall. 

The Projectionist finally let go of his cheeks which rebound with a comical and elastic _snap!_, prompting another startled noise and a step back. Bendy could only stare at how taken aback the previously-terrifying monster was and began to laugh in that strange whistling tone again. The sheer contrast of how terrified he was of this guy before to how easily he can baffle them by just existing was pretty funny. It didn't stand a chance when Bendy was able to vault up onto the balcony through sheer determination and a conveniently placed metal pole.

In conclusion, it seemed they both still weren't sure what he was! But oh, Bendy was excited to see how the poor guy will react when he figures out what else he had up his sleeves. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find more content for the AU on my tumblr  
maulan-reverie.tumblr.com


End file.
